Not Okay
by FanfictionWriter83729
Summary: Movieverse, oneshot. In this world they all pretend, but the truth is that everyone is an inch from breaking. It’s been four hundred and thirteen days since Mission City, and no one is really okay.


**Disclaimer: **do not own Transformers.

**Summary: **Movieverse, oneshot. In this world they all pretend, but the truth is that everyone is an inch from breaking. It's been four hundred and thirteen days since Mission City, and no one is really okay.

**Rating: **T

**Characters: **Optimus, Bumblebee, Sam, Mikaela, Miles

**Acknowledgements: **Is a mutated form of Silvane's bunny, copy-and-pasted here: It's been 413 days since Mission City, and Sam really isn't okay. _(The one where Sam's not accepting his act of genocide by attrition.)_

Not Okay

**Optimus**

What Optimus can never show to those around him is that he is not, as they term it, "okay."

He is tired. He has travelled through so many worlds for such a long time, and though he proclaims Earth his new home, there is a part of him and there will always be a part of him that misses Cybertron. It scares him, too, in that he knows his memory files of the planet (always a beautiful ebony and crimson in his mind's eye) are so old that they could be corrupted. It had been so long. It has been too long.

He is guilty. He is guilty of the Allspark's disappearance, guilty of condemning their world. He is guilty of not being able to protect the very world that was entrusted to him, guilty of overlooking the most obvious warning signs, guilty of…guilty of not stopping the war. He is guilty of letting their war spill over onto other planets, onto other civilizations, onto Earth and onto the humans. He is guilty of making homes their battlefield. And the worse part of is crimes, perhaps, is that Megatron had not deceived him; he was guilty of turning a blind eye, of allowing himself to be deceived.

And he has done many things in this war, things that he will not tell anyone, because even his most trusting allies would be terrified and disgusted. Both humans and Autobots are moved by similar things, are enraged by similar things…are frightened of similar things. And even though "the truth may set you free," as the humans put it, the illusion of freedom that ignorance brings is a luxury that Optimus cannot bring himself to tear away from his companions.

One day, Optimus hopes that he can be honest around his companions. At this moment, human and Autobot alike still needed their illusions for their very survival. They were not strong enough for the truth yet.

He knows that some humans look to them and see gods; others look at them and see demons. The truth is that they are all mortals, and in the grand scheme of things even Autobots are a passing shadow.

He wants this war to stop. He wants the war to not have even _begun _in the first place. He wants sparks alive again and people whole again. He wants…he wants…

He scolds himself for thinking like a newly-sparked protoform. He was Prime. There could be no want.

He has to be strong. He has to be strong for those who made planet-fall with him, who were, even four hundred and thirteen days after Mission City, still waiting in vain for others to arrive. He has to be strong for their human allies, who were tentatively stepping into this strange, new, dangerous world. He has to be strong, he has to be a leader even though he has more doubts and fears than anyone believes he does.

So he will pretend. He will pretend so that the Autobots and now their human friends can have someone…_something _to believe in. He will pretend that he is actually strong enough to protect them, he will pretend to be someone worth trusting, even if it is not true, so that his friends will not have to be afraid.

He hides his doubts and his fears, even though they are always present, eating away at him like scraplets under his wires. Under no circumstances can he show the strain, under no circumstances can he crumble. If he hadn't had some sort of anchor to reality, he would have lost himself already. In this case, he thanks the Matrix for his friends, even for Bumblebee, somewhat of a contradiction given Bumblebee's mischievous demeanour under his innocent guise. In some cases the young mech was worse than Bluestreak. However, there is always thankfulness behind the frustration.

Bumblebee is always full of energy, always optimistic, always eager for the challenges that a new day brings. Although he has the ability to make Optimus feel like an old model (he was not older by _that _much_) _he also has the uncanny ability to bring hope, light in the seemingly never-ending darkness. He gives Optimus a rather obvious reason to keep pushing on, no matter what. Bumblebee has always been that way ever since he was brought to the Autobot headquarters, one of the last newly-sparked protoforms, naïve and confused and frightened but still cheerful despite it all.

What was the human term for it again? Oh yes. Angels.

And Optimus leads, with this mischief-making angel following him.

It is good, Optimus thinks, to have at least one sane person around.

Bumblebee is "okay," and that is enough for Optimus to be "okay" too.

**Bumblebee**

What Optimus doesn't know is that, despite all appearances, he isn't okay, and he hasn't been for a very long time.

When he was still newly-sparked and naïve, he had the luxury of believing that Optimus and Ironhide would be able to protect him from everything. He was the Autobots' star-child, pampered and disciplined in turn, and he looked to his family as faultless…blameless protectors of the weak. But even within his first vorn of activation, he had seen things…things that they thought he must have forgotten. And it plagued him, afterwards, wondering how in the world mechs so _good _can do such things.

And Bumblebee would learn later that that was one of the many horrors of war. Everyone had a breaking point, everyone had lines they would cross.

Four hundred and thirteen days after Mission City, and now, Bumblebee finds himself on the other side of the situation. Sam and Mikaela and Miles…all the humans companions, looking at them with awe and wonder, trusting that, as long as he was around, nothing could hurt them, and he stands there in front of him, his hands stained with blood and energon, and hopes that their moment of naivety will last longer than his.

He knew that it hurt Ironhide and Optimus, the day they realized that he wasn't as blind as he seemed.

Was it really so bad, that he wanted them to remain ignorant, just for a little bit longer?

When he was newly-sparked and slightly spoiled, he was often told that he was a selfish mech.

But, please, he thinks to whoever is listening. Just for a little bit longer…

And he is frightened. He has seen their war destroy stronger worlds. Bumblebee loves his new friends. They are beautiful, his human companions. They are fierce and beautiful, like fireworks, giving their all in one brief moment of glory.

But they are so fragile, and Bumblebee doesn't want to break them. What have the Autobots done, in bringing their war to this planet?

What choice did they have?

So many questions, too few answers. Thus is the story of Bumblebee's life.

Bumblebee doesn't want to lose them.

If they knew things about the Autobots…about Bumblebee, he would lose them.

And so Bumblebee finds himself lying to them, while they look up at him, wide-eyed and oh so trusting.

The truth was a terrible thing, and though Bumblebee feels guilty about the lies, he just doesn't want to lose his friends. It's not a very dignified thing to say, but the truth is that he doesn't want his new friends to be afraid of him.

Despite all appearances, he is afraid. He is terrified that they will find out. They would think that he had betrayed their trust.

But Bumblebee knows that he cannot show his fear or his uncertainty. Optimus needs an anchor to sanity. There is so much that the leader has lost, and there is so much that he has left to lose. He loves Bumblebee as if he was his very own creation, his very own Allspark-blessed. He knows that Optimus is looking at him, looking to him just for a tiny shred of hope, for some cause of unconditional joy. It was right, wasn't it? What was hope for the future without the future? And now with the Allspark gone, Bumblebee and his generation were the only future for Cybertron.

His leader's demons are numerous and persistent, hunting him from Cybertron to each and every planet and each and every void they had travelled. And Optimus is looking for something inside him that just isn't _there _anymore, but he keeps pretending anyway because Optimus is an inch from breaking, and if he doesn't pretend, he's afraid that Optimus will just _break_ under the strain.

So he'll pretend. He'll pretend that he isn't tired, that he has recovered, that he is ready to move on, that he laughs for the sake of laughter and not for desperation…that he hides no secrets. He'll pretend that he still believes that this war will end in his lifetime, he'll pretend that he still has hope, and Optimus will believe him. He'll pretend that he's someone worth fighting alongside with, even if it isn't true, just so Optimus won't break.

Sam doesn't know about these demons, and Bumblebee is determined to keep it that way for as long as possible. Sam is jubilant laughter and clumsy kindness. Sam is a light in the dark, knowing nothing yet still fixing what Bumblebee hadn't even realized was broken. Bumblebee cherishes the quiet times, with Sam curling up in Bumblebee's reclined front seat, talking to him of everything and of nothing. And Bumblebee lets him talk, until the excited words turn to slow murmurs then to quiet whispers…then, to the scout's amusement, to light snores.

And so Bumblebee goes to recharge, this angel sleeping trustingly inside him.

It's good, Bumblebee thinks, to have at least one sane person around.

And because Sam is okay, Bumblebee can be okay too.

**Sam**

Bumblebee doesn't know that he isn't okay, and Sam wants to keep it that way.

It's been four hundred and thirteen days since Mission City, and Sam's nightmares are getting worse. He has had bouts of nightmares before, so Bumblebee, while concerned over his charge's lack of restful sleep, doesn't think too much of it, especially since Sam doesn't tell him what the nightmares are about. He doesn't tell Bumblebee that he dreams of a broken Earth, of a dead and dying world, with Megatron's laughter lingering in his mind long after the dream was over. He doesn't tell Bumblebee that he dreams about death—about _Bumblebee's _death, in particular, playing over and over in a thousand different ways.

And he will never tell Bumblebee how he'll wake up in a cold sweat after dreaming of broken robot-children, demanding why he killed them before they were even born.

That's the only time when his reaction is so bad that Bumblebee _insists _on figuring out the truth. Sam will make up something to keep him off the trial. He thinks that, deep down, Bumblebee doesn't really believe him, but his guardian will believe the lie anyway because the truth is too much for either of them to bear.

In destroying the Allspark, Sam had effectively destroyed the entire Cybertronian race, leaving them only the hope of war and death. And even if the war ended, they could never return to Cybertron…they could never go back home. The planet would remain cold and dead, without any hope of renewal. Optimus had been willing to do the same, but it was he who had performed the deed, and that was his burden to bear.

He could argue that he had no choice. But nevertheless, it's a horrible feeling, to know that because of you, an entire civilization will end. Only a sadist wouldn't feel anything about that.

And…and he doesn't want the Autobots to hate him for what he did. He knows that it'd be a really childish thing to say, but the truth is that he doesn't want his friends to hate him. And there must be a part of them that does.

He wonders especially…if Optimus hates him. He learned, unbeknownst to the Autobots and quite by accident, that Megatron was Optimus' own _brother, _that they had grown up as friends and that Optimus had tried numerous times to bring his brother back_. _But even with that information, Sam can't bring himself to feel any hint of remorse for killing the tyrant.

He's a murderer in more than one way…and he just _can't _feel guilty for one of his crimes.

He wonders if that makes him a monster.

But he knows that he can't crack. He knows how Bumblebee is looking at him, with something close to desperation in his optics. He knows how tired Bumblebee is, how the scout is trying so hard to fight off his demons, and Sam refuses to add any more to them.

He know that Bumblebee is looking for something inside him that just isn't _there _anymore, but he keeps pretending anyway because Bumblebee is an inch from breaking, and if he doesn't pretend then he's scared that Bumblebee will lose it.

So he'll pretend. He'll pretend to be the sweet, innocent, clumsy, naïve little human, and Bumblebee will believe him. He'll pretend that he's someone worth protecting, even if it isn't true, just so Bumblebee can make it through another day in this endless war, and he'll hide his weaponry and lie about going off to the shooting range with Mikaela. He'll swallow Bumblebee's honeyed lies and feed him his own in turn, because that's the only way that Bumblebee will be able to stand looking at him and not feel totally ashamed—ashamed of himself and of Sam.

He doesn't know if Mikaela knows. He just knows that, without Mikaela, he would have cracked already. Mikaela is his tie to sanity, even if his spazzing just serves to amuse her.

When Bumblebee goes off on a mission, Sam's nightmares get even worse. And he'll wake up with a start, with Mikaela's arms wrapped around him, telling him that it's okay to go back to sleep—telling him that she's there, and that things are going to be okay. She is Sam's strength, a light during the darkest hours.

It vaguely amuses him, in a half-sleep amused kind of way, that she managed to climb through his window without Optimus' help, but by this time he's too tired to worry about what it would look like were his parents to walk in.

And he goes back to sleep, this angel cradling him gently.

It's good, he thinks, to have at least one sane person around.

And if Mikaela is okay, he thinks that he can be okay too.

**Mikaela**

Sam doesn't know a lot of things about her, but the most important thing right now is that he doesn't know that she isn't okay.

She has grown a lot since they've met the Autobots. She likes to think that she's more trusting, more daring, more courageous…but she can't say that she has been more honest.

She hides that she's unsure of herself. She hides that she's unready for the things to come. She hides that, sometimes, all she wants to do is to pretend to be that little girl whose parents can protect her from _everything. _

Most of all, though, she hides the fact that she's afraid.

Because Mikaela isn't a fool. It's been four hundred and thirteen days since Mission City, and she now knows with frightening clarity that, sometimes, not even the Autobots are enough.

She hates it, being a damsel-in-distress, being helpless. She supposes that she's envious of the other humans in this way. Despite everything, despite their own obvious fragility, they believe in the power of their own strength while she's off to the side, wondering how in the world the human race is going to survive this terror from the stars. She had always been alone in a crowd, and now that she's found a place to belong she's terrified of losing her friends, but from where she's standing now, all she can foresee is loss.

And it's a strange house that she's returned to. After years of longing for her father's return, she finds herself awkward around this stranger who is just trying to rediscover his own place in the world. She knows that he's hiding things from her, things that he may never reveal because the truth…the truth is a very painful thing.

And it's not like she can tell him…many things. He knows about the Autobots. It would be quite difficult to keep him ignorant, seeing as they moved to the heart of Autobot-protected territory near their base for security's sake. But she can't tell him the severity of their situation. He thinks that she's just a civilian, an innocent bystander at the wrong place at the wrong time. She can't tell him that she's fighting alongside them now…or trying to, anyway. She can't tell him that she frequents the shooting grounds. She can't tell him that she tests out "things-to-protect-the-squishy" equipment. And she definitely cannot tell him where she goes every day after school, to the Autobot base, taking lessons from Ratchet so she can actually be useful.

And in those training lessons she tries not to imagine one of the Autobots in place of the training dummy. And though she hopes that they'll never need her…part of her tells her to be ready. A storm is coming, and they'll need all the help they can get. And she finds herself disturbingly interested in Cybertronian physical weak points…how to kill as well as how to heal, because no one can afford to be innocent anymore.

But she can't tell Ratchet. He wouldn't even look at her if he knew. She's ashamed of it herself, but she knows that reality and the truth could be brutal things.

And she knows that, although she can feel her secrets slowly eating her away from the inside, she can't be anything but the calm and confident Mikaela. Not only to assure the others, but also for Sam.

He's hiding things too. Out of the two of them, she's always been the better…_survivor, _for the lack of a better word. A better pretender. She'll survive pretending for everyone, but he needs someone he can be weak around. It's best to let him relieve the strain rather than force him to smile for her.

She knows that Sam is looking at her, looking for some reassurance, looking for some proof of sanity, of goodness, in the world. She knows how tired Sam is, how he's fighting against his own demons that he tries so hard to hide, and she refuses to add any more to them.

She knows that Sam is looking for something inside of her that just isn't _there _anymore, but she keeps pretending anyway because Sam is an inch from breaking, and if she doesn't pretend then Sam could very well lose it.

So she'll pretend. She'll pretend that things are going to turn out alright even though she knows that they aren't, and Sam will believe her. She'll pretend to be someone worth knowing even though it isn't true. And she'll ask Sam to go with her to the shooting range so that he can practice too without feeling guilty about it.

She wonders if Miles knows. Probably not, she thinks. Miles is just so oblivious to _everything. _He's always there with a smile, a joke, making analogies and remarks such as: "Ironhide is like an orange." He's their comic relief, their unexpected fit of laughter in an otherwise bleak situation, their little spastic light in the smothering dark.

And so she laughs at this clumsy angel, finding living proof that all will be okay in the end, that despite all things, someone can smile and laugh and actually mean it.

It's good, she thinks, to have at least one sane person around.

And if someone like Miles can be okay, she's sure that she can be too.

**Miles**

Miles actually is okay, even if it's just in comparison.

He considers it one of his only strengths, this ability to roll with the punches, to take life's lemons and make them into delicious lemon meringue pie with ice cream on top. He's always been like that, mellow and easygoing next to Sam's spastic nature.

It's an ability that he's had to call on many times lately. When a psychopathic and vengeful police car came at his front door, and when his life was subsequently saved by said police car's archenemies, he said, "Oh, aliens. That's cool." When his family, along with the Witwickies and the Baneses and several others were relocated to Autobot-protected territory, he said, "Look at the bright side. The location's great." And other things like that. Sometimes people are annoyed with him. Other times he actually manages to get them to smile.

There's too much fear around. Too much fear and hatred and anger. Someone has to smile, and it might as well be him. At least he can be convincing.

But the truth is that he's about as ready to crack as the next person. His world of relevant normalcy was just shattered into teeny-tiny bits. There are aliens among them, and a lot of them are intent on squishing you for mere amusement, and more are coming.

And though the human allies are getting along great, more or less, with the Autobots, in the dark of the night Miles wonders if he'd trade all these new acquaintances if he could just live _normally._ And then the darker thoughts come; if only the Allspark never made it to Earth…if only the Decepticons never found this planet…if only Archibald Witwicky never found the damn thing…and, the darkest thought, if only he wasn't Sam's friend…

It shames him, that these thoughts even enter his mind. But everyone has their demons, and these doubts, wriggling like maggots in the shadows of his mind, are his.

Miles knows that the truth is sometimes a very scary and very ugly thing.

But he wakes up the next day happily greeting Mr. Sun, and does things to provoke his friends to shake their heads in shame and the Autobots to look at him as thoughhe were a dead end in evolution. He smiles and laughs and generally gets in the way, if only to distract them from their demons.

He teases Mikaela most of all, because she's watching him closely, and despite what he says to Sam he actually respects the girl and doesn't want her to break. He'll act like the brother she's never wanted and will happily suffer the consequences. He'll "compete" for her affections for Sam just to watch the girl get flustered and amused and for Sam to be so damn oblivious.

And in their trio he'll play the part of the innocent, quirky sidekick to Mikaela's action girl and Sam's clumsy hero, and he'll never tell them how he follows them to the shooting range and critiques them from a distance while practicing with his own firearm. At this stage he's already a better shot that they are.

He'll pretend, and still play the bumbling fool, and Mikaela will believe him. He'll pretend to be someone worth being with, even if it isn't true, just so that she can laugh at him and go on with her own masquerade.

Because he knows that Mikaela is watching him, knows that Sam is watching Mikaela, knows that Bumblebee is watching Sam, and he knows that Optimus is watching Bumblebee. And he knows that, at the end of all things, really, they are all just shadows cowering in shadows, pretending to be a light in the dark just so they won't break each other.

And Miles sees what they don't see, that each and every one of them is so loyal and so loving…and so afraid and so ashamed. So they're all hiding, all pretending, so no one will have to be frightened of each other.

He sees it all. He sees how they all give and take and how it's crushing them slowly. He sees how they search desperately in one another for something that isn't _there _anymore…for something that might never have been there. He sees how they all hide their darkest parts from one another, hiding them so clumsily that all one has to do is to _look _to see them. He sees how their anchors to sanity aren't any saner than themselves.

So he'll pretend. He'll pretend for Mikaela who's pretending for Sam who's pretending for Bumblebee who's pretending for Optimus who's pretending for…well, for everyone else.

Everyone is an inch away from breaking, and it's all a matter of _when, _not if.

And all he can do is to cushion the blow, to catch these angels as they're falling even though it'll drag him, too, down into the abyss—but at least they won't be alone.

_It's alright,_ Miles wants to tell them. _We're all insane here._

It's been four hundred and thirteen days since Mission City, and Miles will be okay.


End file.
